


Birthday blues

by Cedremortlover



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anthea (Sherlock) is the Best PA, Birthday, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Greg is Sweet, M/M, Mycroft is Sweet, Sherlock is a Brat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2020-09-24 16:50:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20361853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cedremortlover/pseuds/Cedremortlover
Summary: Greg is nervous about Mycroft's upcoming birthday.Written for starsandstiches for the Rupert Graves birthday auction.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StarsAndStitches](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsAndStitches/gifts).

> Thank you for bidding on me starsandstiches, I hope this is OK..
> 
> The other four parts should be up here soon.

It was a cool, Autumn evening, just before the sun began to set on the dark tarmac of the car park, where Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade was huddled, hands in pockets, around a distorted, dead body. Mycroft was dreadfully disappointed about his lover being prized from his arms on one of the few nights a year where the pair could relax together but, nevertheless, Mycroft had done the same many times and he knew the demands of the job. He would let it slide. Just this once. 

Thankfully, Sherlock and his doctor had arrived, giving Greg a small glimmer of hope that he would make it home to finish what he had started earlier in the day. Though, as usual, the brunette was no help to the Inspector and his pleas to leave. 

Greg decided to ignore Sherlock and his pestering about more interesting cases and focus on the task at hand ; finding out who mutilated the dead teenager. As usual, Sherlock became restless and turned his concentration to annoying Greg's team. Sally had recently been wedded and, causing most of the team (including Greg) to be extremely jealous, was on honeymoon in the Caribbean, causing the hatred to be directed towards Anderson (not that this was unusual). Vicious glares were directed to him while he was still trying to extract DNA from the body, very much unsuccessfully. This wasn't an on the spot murder. This was planned. Carefully. 

After five minutes of huffing and puffing coming from Anderson, Sherlock sighed and began spouting deductions left right and centre - some not all relevant to the case, it was a bad day for Anderson to learn about his cheating girlfriend, but he should have known better. Too trusting. 

Greg was about to reach the end of his patience with the brunette and he started to prepare to send the man away if the situation became dire. But, Sherlock came to his senses (Well, after a trying phone call with his brother) and he started to examine the body. Sherlock's eyes rolled - how did Gavin not see this? 

Much to Anderson's dismay, Sherlock slid off the rusted locket that laid limply on the increasingly pale neck of the body and opened it. Inside, he saw a ripped picture of a boy. It was so obvious. Greg didn't know how he didn't think of it sooner. 

"The ex is at the Chinese shop down the street, he won't be there for long, I would hurry up if I were you." Sherlock stated before running off the scene. Greg sighed. Of course Sherlock would just sprint off into the distance. He needed to get home. 

Normally, he would deal with the arrest by himself, but today, he had other things on his mind. He left it to Gregson. He needed the practice anyway if he wanted the promotion he had his eyes on. Greg strolled over to the road and paused. He knew he didn't have to text for Mycroft's car. He was being watched after all. Why should he waste time? As usual, the Sedan pulled up beside him, he climbed in and greeted the driver. The rest of the drive was in silence until the car pulled towards the towering metal gates and security box. As Greg's window rolled down, he gave a quick wave to the man behind the window. He pressed his hand against the tablet for it to scan. The man gave a nod and the window rolled up. The car drove through the gates. 

Greg was still in awe of the red brick stately home that stood, proud, in front of him. He didn't understand why Mycroft had chosen him. He could have picked some posh politician like himself instead of a lowly copper. Greg was dreading when Mycroft would eventually ask him to move in. Greg loved the house but he would be out of his depth. He didn't fit in there. 

"Sir, Mr Holmes has been called away, he requested your presence in the house when he returned. You have free reign of the house - if you need anything, please let one of the workers here know." the driver noted, just as Greg was about to leave the car. Disappointment flooded through Greg. Mycroft was gone. He gave a weak 'ok' to the driver before walking through the double doors of the house. 

He was greeted by bright lights, welcoming him with grandeur into the house. He turned left and left again to the informal sitting room - still much to formal for him but it was the most comfortable place in the house and Mycroft knew he would find him there. 

Meanwhile, Mycroft was sitting in his office (his real office, not the one he used for show.) looking over files about the 'Windstorm' case and how MI5 had butchered it. It was only a few minutes after Gregory had left that it was his time to do so. He had hoped to be home before Gregory but he had misjudged the severity of the problem. He had sent out orders for the inspector to return to his home in the off chance he would return anytime soon. 

Anthea, sensing his annoyance, walked up to him and asked if he was alright. Mycroft was not. She sighed, "Has it got something to do with Gregory?"   
"No! Of course not, it's MI5, I've never known people that incompetent. I hate to say it Anthea but, I need a break."   
"Why don't you go out somewhere with Gregory for your birthday."

Anthea's comment was met with a steely silence. 

"You haven't told Gregory have you Sir?" Anthea inquired. 

Mycroft head fell into his hands as he mumbled a quick "No." 

He took out his phone and opened his messages, ready to text his partner about what would be happening on Tuesday next week but he didn't have to. Sherlock got there first.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confessing, burning and kissing.

Greg had been lounging on the cream sofa in Mycroft's informal living room, careful to not let his muddy feet on the plush pillows, when his phone pinged. 

My brother's birthday is next Tuesday - I thought you ought to know - S.H

Right… Thanks, I guess… 

Greg was not in the mood to start thinking about birthdays and why his partner didn't tell him sooner. He was tired. He just wanted to sleep. He walked upstairs towards a pale green guest room. He never liked to sleep in Mycroft's bed when he wasn't there. He slowly undressed, not bothered to fold his discarded clothes like Mycroft always did and he clambered into the cushiony bed. The mattress sunk beneath him and the weight of his world lifted, leaving only soft memories behind him. 

It was a warm but breezy day in late August, Mycroft and Greg were lounging on a red tartan cashmere blanket in the middle of St James' Park. This was one of the few dates that Greg planned and he was raring to go. Of course though, Mycroft had some say in the security of the date. Being the British government, he always had to be surrounded by security and he couldn't just wander the public alone. The park had been cleared of the public for the two hours the pair would spend there and various security officers were wandering around. It put Greg off to have people like this so clearly observing the date but he followed Mycroft's advice and just pretended that they weren't there. 

Greg opened the wicker basket to reveal a vast array of his favourite foods, ready to be consumed by the two men. First though, Greg pulled out from behind him a bottle of 2009 Moet and Chandon and opened it. The foam spread everywhere, Mycroft was laughing, no, giggling with pure delight. Greg could bet he was one of the only people in the world who had seen that. They stayed under that August sun, reminiscing of past days and wondering about future days together. Greg's favourite memory of that day was him, hand feeding Mycroft strawberries while the sun rained down on the world. 

Then Mycroft got a call. No, Mycroft didn't get a call, they finished all the food. Then why did Greg hear a ringing? 

Crap! Greg's phone was ringing. He awakened from his dream and picked up. Mycroft. Greg smiled. 

"Hey babe, you coming home soon." Greg yawned. 

"Hello Gregory, I should be home within the hour. But, I confess, I need to tell you something. My birthday…" 

"-Is on Tuesday, yeah I know. Sherlock told me."

Greg could hear Mycroft's sigh of relief. 

He continued, "All I need to do now is get you a present…" 

"You realise that that is not necessary?"

"Of course it's necessary, it your birthday." Greg pointed out. 

"I was conceived without a choice or any hardships on my own part, if anybody receives a gift, it should be my Mother." Mycroft explained, "Anyway, i'll be home soon darling." Mycroft hung up. 

Greg walked down the white steps of Mycroft's spiral staircase into the kitchen where he began work on a lasagne for his and Mycroft's dinner and soon enough, he heard the door open.

" Good evening darling," Mycroft whispered before planting a kiss onto Gregory's forehead. Greg turned, his bright eyes gleaming up at his partner. 

"Hey babe," 

Mycroft scowled, " You know what we have discussed about pet na-" 

Mycroft was silenced by Greg's highly enthusiastic kissing on the lips, all that was left to do was kiss back. Mycroft was surprised when Greg swiftly pushed away.   
"I've burnt the lasagne." was all the explanation that Mycroft needed. 

Greg and Mycroft have introduced many things to each other since they began dating - Mycroft treated Greg to the finer things in life, five star hotels, flying everywhere on a private jet, chauffeured cars, and Greg taught Mycroft how to let loose and relax by taking him out to pubs and well, doing 'normal' things, like eating burnt ready-meal lasagne at 9pm. 

The evening ended with some rather raucous kisses that ended up moving on to something much more raucous than kisses, and all doubts were pushed out of Greg's mind.


	3. Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock lends his ‘helping’ hands and Greg doubts himself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry that this is taking so long, I should hopefully have some more up soon

“Sherlock, I need help."  
"Is this about the wormwood case? I solved that ages ago. It's easy! Do you seriously -"  
"No it's not about the bloody wormwood case. It's about your brother and his birthday!"  
"Let me guess, you don't know what to get my brother."  
Greg sighed, "Yeah,"  
"Oh you poor boy. Meet me at Baker Street in 15 minutes."

Greg left the house and finally realised that summer had once again returned to London. Rays of golden light sauntered vaguely downwards, filling the open air with light. Clouds dotted the sky like patches on a jacket and vibrant green leaves danced on their branches. 

Greg waved away the black limousine that pulled up towards him in favour of the motorbike that Mycroft got him for his birthday. It was such an amazing gift, Greg wanted to repay Mycroft with something equally as good, if not better. There was one problem though. Mycroft had the budget to give an amazing present. Greg did not. 

It wasn't a long journey to Baker Street - especially not since every light Greg hit was green, he gave a quick salute to the CCTV camera he saw following him as a gesture of thanks - and he arrived ten minutes after he left. 

He knocked on the door to find Sherlock was already waiting for him, he stood their, on the steps above, giggling at Greg's demise. 

"Come on Sherlock, this isn't funny!" Scowled Greg, staring up at the brunette. 

"This is going to be wonderful." Sniggered Sherlock as he led him out of the flat. 

The taxi ride was not as productive as Greg would have hoped and he soon began to regret his decision of asking Sherlock to help him shop. Sherlock was only contempt when Mycroft was in a compromising situation (and when he had a case ( or an array of human organs)). 

Greg wasn’t surprised when the car pulled up towards a large, nondescript warehouse, it seemed like the kind of place Mycroft and Sherlock would shop, that is to say, the kind of place normal people wouldn’t dare to, or be allowed to visit. Greg was correct.

To the left of Gregory, the walls were lined with varying colours of silk ties, and tables were piled high with cufflinks. To the right, collections of fountain pens, first editions of books Greg hadn’t even heard of and gold pocket watches and fobs. The thing that unnerved Greg the most though, was the lack of price tags. 

Sherlock grabbed Greg’s hand and pulled him towards the ties but Greg moved away, they were too impersonal. Mycroft had millions of ties, how would one of these be special to him.  
The rest of the trip followed in a similar pattern, the only thing that Greg found, a signed copy of Mycroft’s favourite book, was around three thousand pounds out of Greg’s price range. He left the warehouse, with Sherlock tailing him, constantly moaning about having to go somewhere else ‘taking time out of his busy schedule’

The pair continued to go around the high end shops and markets of London but, to no avail. Greg was no closer to finding a gift than he was at the beginning of the trip.

Greg was exhausted by the time he finally arrived back at his dingy flat. He ordered Chinese and put on the football - no team he particularly cared about, but there was nothing else on anyway. As he was eating, a wave of self doubt seemed to wash over him. 

You can't even find a gift for him… Do you really deserve him? Why didn't he tell you about his birthday? 

Greg was now in tears, he had never gone through anything like this before. He had always been around the same income as his partners and so he never had to worry about gifts and other trivial things ; now though, Greg was not in the same position, Mycroft's bank account crushed Greg's and that had always worried him, but how could what Greg gave to Mycroft ever match what Mycroft had given to Greg. 

Greg needed to calm down. He knew he was good enough for Mycroft. They were in love and, despite what the people in government would say, Mycroft had a heart and he wouldn't care if Greg's present was 5 pounds or 5000 pounds. But still, Greg wanted to impress. He still had a few days. He had time. 

With that thought, Greg stopped listening to the voices in his head and began paying attention to the football. Soon, he began to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
